Petrosinella
by Tarlea
Summary: My version of the Neopolitan Rapunzel. I have based it off the excellent telling by Diane Stanley. I highly reccomend it. But for more elaboration, there's mine. Enjoy.
1. Pillows, Parsley and Pregnancy

Aevyn groaned and sat up to readjust the pillows she had shifted only minutes ago. She fluffed and patted until she was satisfied, then slowly leaned back onto the pillows. Most of them were plain straw pillows, save for the one stuffed with soft goose down. Her father was a simple tailor, but he had managed to secure two of the fine pillows as part of Aevyn's mother's dowry. When she was married, Aevyn had been given one as a wedding gift from her father, and most of the time it sat on the bed, more for adornment than use. It was reserved for special guests, when it would be put in their finest white linen, washed with lavender soap, and spread in the sun to dry. But today it was pulled out, put in the everyday linen, and, along with every other pillow in the house, used to make Aevyn more comfortable. At first she protested, but her doting husband would not hear of it, saying that in her condition, she needed to be as content as possible. 

She smiled, thinking of her dear Nathyn. She imagined him, carefully trimming the wicks off of the newly finished candles in the shop below their small cottage. When she had first met him, she had been unable to place the sweet smell that he carried, but now she could not smell beeswax without thinking of her beloved husband. Nathyn also sold soaps in his small candle shop, which Aevyn made with loving hands. Together, they were trying to create scented candles, by adding herbs to the waxy mixtures. 

Aevyn bargained for the herbs she put into her soaps with the old midwife who lived in the small cottage next to the shop. Some of the villagers said the woman was witch, but they nevertheless called on her when they were ailing, and she always provided ointments and tonics in exchange for eggs, bread, milk, cheese, and wine. She kept her own herb garden, with fine and rare herbs of all kinds. The garden was surrounded by a high stone wall with a strong wooden gate, which had been built by the bookseller who had lived there before the woman. No one quite knew why. It was rumored that he had acquired a large sum of money and had buried it there and built the wall to keep thieves out. When the man died several tried to dig up the treasure, but they found nothing but dirt. Some said that was what made the woman's herbs grow so richly, others believed it had never really been there in the first place. Now the wall was used to guard the precious herbs, and the old woman liked having it there. Her herbs were very valuable, and she was very proud of them. A few times a young thief would manage to steal a sprig or two, thus inviting the woman's wrath, and he would end up with a disease and would die soon after. For this reason she was called a witch, and was revered and feared by all. 

Aeyvn but a hand on her swollen belly. " It won't be long before I'll be needing her services", she thought happily. A breeze rustled the simple curtains that adorned the large window facing the bed. Through it, Aevyn could see over the stone wall into the old woman's garden. Now, when women are with child, they have craving for things that they would normally not have cravings for. Numerous times Aevyn had sent Nathyn out for things such as fresh pears, and dates, even thought they weren't in season. Poor Nathyn tried to fulfill her requests, but some of them he just couldn't find, or afford. Aevyn felt guilty about her cravings, and of late she had stopped asking for things. But today, as she looked out the window into the woman's garden, she saw the lush, green, patch of parsley that the woman was growing. Suddenly, she developed a craving for it she couldn't control. She tried not to think about it. She picked up the book she was reading and tried to lose herself in the story of the two lovers whose father would not let them marry, but she could not stop thinking about how delicious the parsley would taste. She tried to eat something else, but it was no use. She began thinking of ways to cook it. Boiled, or steamed, or fresh from the garden. Parsley with eggs, with ham, with mutton, with melted cheese. Parsley in her mead, parsley in her tea, parsley in HER. As the long afternoon hours passed, Aevyn felt she would go mad if she did not have some of that mouth-watering parsley soon.

Finally, Nathyn came up and asked "Well, my darling, what would you like for dinner tonight?"

"Well," Aevyn said sweetly, kissing him gently on the nose, "I was thinking today, of how much I would like some nice, fresh, parsley."

"Parsley?" Nathyn asked, puzzled. 

"Yes my love, parsley. And I thought that, since the old midwife has such a fine patch growing right next door, that you might go and ask her for some." she cooed.

"Well my dove, if that's what you want, that's what you shall get! We've got to keep our little treasure healthy you know!" he said cheerfully. "I'll go right over and ask her for some. I'll offer my best candles!" And with that, he kissed her womb and hurried out the door.

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	2. The Midwife's Garden

After selecting a dozen of his best candles, Nathyn pulled his cloak around him and ducked outside his door. He locked it securely, thinking of his wife and their 'little treasure', as he liked to call him. He was sure it would be a boy. He had already imagined he and the boy fishing, and hunting, and teaching the boy how to make candles, like his father. He smiled at the thought, and unhooked the lantern that shone brightly above the carved door. Then he started for the midwife's cottage.

The chill air bit at him, and the larks began to sing their song of night. He walked up the small path that lead to the woman's front door. Cheery as a man who's going to be a father, he knocked briskly on the door. He waited a few seconds, but no one came. He began to get nervous, but tired again. When no one came, he put his ear to the door. He could see nothing, but felt sure the woman must be out." Well, she wouldn't mind if I just took some," he thought, remembering his wife's state when he had returned after a whole weekend with the herring she had wanted. "Besides," he tried to reassure himself," my wife and she do business all the time. Thus convinced, the man took one of his huge vats for dipping candles and turned it upside-down to use as a step. Leaving his precious candles by the midwife's door, he hefted himself up onto the vat's round bottom. He could just reach over the top of the wall if he stood on his tiptoes. He took a deep breath, jumped, and hooked his arm over the top of the wall.

He kicked his legs under him, trying to find purchase among the weathered stones, but they only scraped down the wall to dangled beneath him. His arm began to slip, the rough-hewn edges of the wall making tiny cuts in his arm. Naythn grunted, sweating, trying to hold his grip. He tried desperately to find a foothold. Suddenly, his foot caught something. He didn't hesitate. He just closed his eyes and 

pushed as hard as he could. 

*****************************************************************************

Back in the cottage, cozy and warm, Aevyn waited impatiently. She felt a kick in her stomach, and smiled. "Hang on in there," she said reprovingly, "you're not coming out yet." She tried to imagine what she would be like. She felt sure it would be a girl. With golden hair and flashing brown eyes, like her mother's. She would have her father's dimples, though. She would learn to make soaps with her mother, and to spin and embroider, and all of the household graces. She would be taught to read, of course, her father would see to that, and he would probably teach her the Latin he knew as well. And oh-when she came of age! She would have a string of wealthy men asking for her hand, absolutely besotted with her. Aevyn looked down at her womb. "But you can only have one" she told her unborn bride-to-be. Aevyn sighed and looked out the window, which she had closed due to the briskness of the evening. "What is taking him so long?", she thought annoyed. Just then she heard something moving in the garden.

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Nathyn shook his head and brushed the dirt from his face. He could taste he soil in his mouth. He spat and felt better. He ran a finger through his hair and felt something warn and wet on his face. He realized his arm was still bleeding. He cursed and looked around. The garden was pitch black. No moon illuminated the night sky, and he had left his lantern on the other side of the fence. He groped around the wall. As he approached the gate he could see the light from his lantern making long dark shadows as it shined through the fence. Unlatching the fence from the inside, Nathyn left in hanging open and rushed to grab his lantern. He didn't know when the midwife would get back, and he wasn't so sure how appeasing she'd be if she found him stumbling around her garden at night. As he combed the neatly planted rows for the luscious parsley, he thought about the stories he had heard of the agonizing plagues that had assailed the other men who had dared to climb into the forbidden garden. "Maybe she is a witch," he thought. But he consoled himself that it was only idle gossip.

Finally, he came upon the parsley. He grabbed a handful and yanked it free of the ground's steady grasp. He felt relief wash over him and then began to make his way back to the gate. The noise of someone coming along the road made him stop. He threw himself against the wall, blew out his lantern and waited, clutching the parsley to him. Nathyn held his breath. There was silence, except for the advancing footsteps. Nathyn's heart pounded loudly in his ears. He heard keys turning in the cottage door's rusty lock. The hinges creaked, and then stopped for a moment, and then the door was shut again. Nathyn waited a few seconds, then began feeling his way to the gate. He pushed it slowly open, and slid through, latching it as he eased it closed. He crept back to his door, fumbled with the lock, got it open, and stepped inside. He leaned against the door and, heart still pounding, breathed a sigh of relief.

Upstairs his wife's voice called "Nathyn? Is that you?" 

"Yes," he called back, and prayed the midwife would not find out what he had done.

******************************************************************


	3. The Midwife

But she did find out. For, the next morning as the midwife rose early to check her garden, as she did every morning, she noticed that her patch of parsley looked smaller somehow. She shrugged, and went inside to have her breakfast. It was still dark out, and she took one of the candles she had found mysteriously laid on her doorstep while returning from a birthing the night before, and put it in her plain wooden candlestick. She took a burning straw from the fire and lit the candle. It was a fine candle, and no doubt was one of Nathyn-the-candlestick-maker's. She assumed it was to bribe her to come and birth his wife's upcoming baby, which she had every intention of doing anyway.  
  
The midwife sighed. After breakfast she was supposed to bottle some of her dried herbs before spending her hour in the garden, but she was still exhausted from the night before, and decided she would go back to bed for a few hours. She went over to the fire, which was growing slowly, and stoked the damp logs. When she was convinced the fire would sustain enough to cook her breakfast, the midwife next went to her icehouse and found the eggs she had gained from the procedure the night before. Along with the eggs she took her pitcher of milk, which she got from the farmer's widow every Sunday in return for a tonic of herbs that would keep her three cows healthy and producing sweet milk. Returning to the kitchen, the midwife boiled some water in the small pot that hung on the long iron hook that swung over the fire. She put her eggs in the pot and poured herself a glass of milk. Then she pulled her stool up near the fire, and waited. **************************************************************************** *  
  
Nathyn rolled over and looked at the sun breaking through the misty dawn. He slumped, and reluctantly pushed pack the covers and swung his feet onto the stinging cold floor. Quietly, he took his clothes off of the pegs on the wall beside the bed. He pulled his trousers up over his tunic and buttoned them around his waist, making sure there were no tails flapping out. Normally, Aevyn would have to remind him, but lately she had been sleeping when he got up to start the day, and he had had to try to remember himself. He shrugged on his jerkin, quickly tying the laces that ran up the front. He pulled on his boots, and turned to the smoldering remains of yesterday's fire. He lifted some logs into the hearth and prodded until the flames crackled heartily. Content, Naythn leaned over the bed and kissed Aevyn gently on the cheek, and crept out of the room.  
  
In the kitchen behind the small workshop and store Naythn heated up some of the mead from last night's dinner. He sipped it slowly, letting the liquid warm his bones. He had to admit that Aevyn had made a savory stew with the parsley he had fetched the night before. Naythn stretched and yawned. His arms ached and there were scars on his underarms from where he had gripped the wall. Naythn gulped the last swallow of his breakfast, and began to open the shop. He wondered if the midwife would discover that he had taken some of her parsley, but pushed away his fears, telling himself that he had left the candles, and that she would understand. He would go by and explain that afternoon, when he made his deliveries, and with that he gave no more thought to the matter.  
  
Nathyn whistled contentedly as he took his stool down off of the counter, and lit the fire. He breathed in the sweet smell of the wax, the comforting smell that had followed him from his childhood, when his father had owned the shop. He took a straw from the fire and lit the lanterns, to let the townspeople know that he was open for business. He went to his large vats of wax and slowly stirred the softening mixture. A sudden thought made him stop. The vat! He had left his vat by the wall of the midwife's garden the night before. Nathyn cursed himself for being so careless. She would certainly find out now! "Unless I can get it back before she finds it," he mused. Nathyn moved to one of the large windows at the front of the shop. He could just see the large black vat, looking like a demon against the pallid stone of the old wall. He cursed again under his breath.  
  
The sun was up now, so there was no hope of retrieving the vat without anyone noticing. Nathyn sat at his working table and cut wick into lengths so that the pieces could be made into candles. He turned the predicament over in his mind, trying to devise a way to surreptitiously fetch the vat. He had just decided on one scheme, and was gathering the courage to execute it, when he heard the midwife's door open. He moved to the window and saw the old woman turn and close the door with a bucket in her hand "Zounds!" Nathyn uttered in exasperation, and then the brawn candlestick maker decided there was nothing he could do but wait until the woman stumbled upon his misfortune and plead for mercy from her terrible wrath. **************************************************************************** **********  
  
The old midwife slowly cranked the handle of the well in the town square. She noticed bitterly that all of the women of the village waited until they knew that she had gotten her water before drawing their own. She hefted her bucket off of the iron hook and carried it back to her house by the garden. She stopped by her door and listened to the women at the well laughing and gossiping as they plunged their buckets into the deep store of water. She pushed back the tears, reminding herself of what her aunt had told her when she had decided to become a midwife's apprentice. She had warned her darling niece that midwives were unfairly isolated and linked with black magic and the devil. She had nodded and agreed, understanding the burden she was undertaking. Sometimes she regretted her choice. Midwives seldom married, and often as her strong skilled hands held a crying newborn babe, she wished that she herself could have a daughter to raise as her own, and to teach the ways of midwifery so that when she was gone...But she dismissed the idea. No one had ever wanted to marry her as a young girl, and once she had become a midwife, rumors had scared off any other possibilities.  
  
Now she gave her devotion to her herb garden, and took great pride in it being known as the best in the village. The mystery of the bookkeeper's treasure had attracted her to the cottage when she had come to the town, and now it had become part of her mystique. She was, she admitted, notoriously protective of her herbs, but they all had so many important uses, and there were some rare herbs that only she grew that the manor house paid handsomely for. There were tales of her cursing thieves, but they were merely alehouse jargon, and she let them spread because it kept the farmboys and rogues out of her garden. Occasionally on All Hallows Eve an intrepid young boy, dared by his fellows, would break into the garden, and the call of a lark would send him scrambling back to his mother's fire.  
  
The midwife realized that she was wasting time reminiscing, and she turned to enter the garden, but a dark shape in the corner of her eye made her stop. She looked to the right and spied a large black object beside the high stone wall. Investigating further, she discovered that it was a large vat, turned on its mouth. Carefully she eased the vat upright. Peering inside, she met a strong smell of candlewax, and realized that the vat belonged to the candlestick maker. She frowned, wondering why Nathyn would leave his largest vat outside, and in her yard no less. Then, realizing the vat's position, the midwife understood that he had been trying to get into her garden. But why, she asked herself, would the honorable candlestick maker want to sneak into her garden in the dead of night? Leaving the vat, the midwife unlocked the large gate and entered the garden. She looked around for any sight that would betray that he had succeeded in vaulting the wall. When she came to her parsley patch she found it. One small cluster, instead of being lush and green, was a bunch of broken stems. She wondered why she had not seen it earlier, and decided she must have been too groggy to notice. The woman felt hurt. Why would they steal her herbs? Why could not the kindly Aevyn just bargain with the midwife as she always did? Then she thought of the bundle of candles on her doorstep. She softened as she reminded herself that she had been out at a birthing the night before, and that Nathyn might have needed the herb right away. Smiling, she figured that Aevyn, in her expectancy, must have had a craving for the herb, and sent Nathyn after it. She felt herself begin to tear at the thought of a husband so loving sharing her cold bed and a swollen stomach with a bundle much more precious than the stolen parsley. The tired old midwife buried her face in her hands and sobbed. **************************************************************************** ********** 


	4. The Vat

Author's note: Firstly, I would like to say thank you to all of you who have been following my story. I have not written for a long time and your enjoyment is  
  
encouraging. Second, I encourage you to please email me at musicalqueen101@aol.com if you have any particular comments about the content of my story,  
  
or suggestions (what should happen next, how this should happen, a name for X, etc.).   
  
Thanks to Lai for her scrutinous review-I assure you the midwife will indeed end up taking the child as in the traditional telling. :)  
  
Thanks to all of you for your enthusiasm and thanks so much to my reviewers! ENJOY!  
  
Nathyn wiped his sleeve across his forehead. The shop could get like an oven by midday, but after years of fashioning candles, Nathyn was used to the  
  
heat. He put down his tools and decided that he should stop and have some lunch. He could hear Aevyn upstairs, tidying the room, trying to be useful, although she  
  
ought to be in bed. He smiled, closed the door to the shop and climbed the stairs to find Aevyn sweeping slowly. She looked up as he entered the room.   
  
"A lady as beautiful as yourself should not have to lift a finger for anything." he said, with a slight hint of reproof. Aevyn blushed and put down the broom. She  
  
moved to the large armed chair that Nathyn had moved into the bedroom, and retrieved her embroidery from the basket beside it. She pulled out her needle and   
  
sighed boredly. Being pregnant was so tedious! Nathyn picked up the broom and crossed to the door.   
  
"And what would my lady like for lunch?" he asked, with a playfully debonair suavity. It was decided then that they should have bread and cheese and Aevyn   
  
wanted some more of the parsley mead.   
  
~^~*~^~  
  
The midwife straightened and stretched out her aching back. She walked to the large round stump that served as a chair for her weary body. She put   
  
down her bucket and rubbed her tired eyes. She stooped and plucked some mint leaves from a nearby plant and munched contemplatively. What would she do  
  
with the vat? She could take it back, but she wasn't sure if she could carry it, and that would be awkward. She shrugged. "I suppose if I leave it there, eventually  
  
he'll come and get it," she mused. And with that she went inside to attend to the neglected unbottled herbs.   
  
~^~*~^~  
  
Nathyn sat by the midwife's tall wall, chewing on his last bits of cheese. He watched the midwife's house closely for any signs of movement. He had  
  
meant to go and apologize, but the fear he had tried to push away that morning had nagged at him and brewed until he decided he had to retrieve the vat, without  
  
the midwife knowing. The candle maker swallowed his last piece of cheese and stood up, brushing off his hands. He took a wary step towards the vat and glanced   
  
at the midwife's house. He stared at it until he had convinced himself that she wasn't watching. Quelling his fear, he hurried to the place where the vat was leaning   
  
up against the wall. Nathyn took no notice that the vat had been turned over; he simply bent down, curved his fingers under the vat's bottom and heaved himself up.  
  
He walked as fast as he could, which wasn't very fast, back to his shop, all the while feeling a fool and hoping that the old midwife was not watching.  
  
The midwife, who was indeed watching, stood at her window and had a good laugh as Nathyn stumbled and ambled to his shop and closed the door.  
  
~^~*~^~ 


	5. Craythur, Curses, and Children

Aevyn yawned for the fiftieth time that day and put down her embroidery. She was so sick of sitting around like an invalid! She could do something! Nathyn was too protective, keeping her closed up in this room like an animal! She pushed herself up and moved to the window that overlooked the midwife's garden. She nudged the shutters and they swung open. She watched the orange sun going down behind a green hill at the edge of the village. She closed her eyes and imagined the grass under her feet as she climbed to the summit. Opening them she knew that she could not, even if Nathyn did let her. "I wish this child would just come!" she thought, growing sour. After a moment she heard Nathyn plodding up the stairs. The noise pounded into her reverie and annoyed her. She stiffened as the door opened and he entered the room.  
  
"Good evening, my love." he breathed tiredly, and plopped down on the bed. It had been a long day, but he decided not to tell her about the vat. "So love, how about some mutton tonight?" he offered.  
  
"Oh, but I-yes, it's fine." was the reply.  
  
"Aevyn, my darling, what is it?" he tried to sound appeasing.  
  
"Well I-I was hoping we could have some more of that parsley." she said smoothly. Nathyn scowled. He was tired, sore, and he didn't care to go through the same ordeal again. "Well, how about some mutton, and a little cheese?" he tried.  
  
"I was really looking forward to some parsley, but... if you want to have mutton well then..." she said pathetically.   
  
Nathyn groaned inwardly. "Aren't you getting just a little sick of the stuff?" he asked irritably.  
  
She sensed the edge in his voice and her temper flared. "No! I haven't gotten sick of it! I'm getting sick of you! Keeping me in here as if I had the plague! All I ask is a bit of fresh parsley! Is that so very hard?!"  
  
Nathyn, who had been getting madder and madder, growled, "You have no idea!" and, turning stiffly, left the room. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up to the bedroom. How dare she! Did she know what he went through for her?! He cursed vehemently. He cursed at his wife and the midwife and her garden, and himself and his temper. He snatched his coat off of its peg, and marched straight to the Sword and Strumpet, the local tavern, and ordered a tankard of ale.   
  
Drink after drink he swallowed, fuming and blathering about his misfortune to have such a disagreeable wife and an ogress next door. This sparked the other drunkards in the room to tell tales of the midwife, the curses she had placed on them, or their cousins, or their wife's friend in the next village.   
  
It was nigh on to midnight when the midwife came to fetch the spinner woman's husband and tell him his son had been born. Nathyn lifted his head blearily towards the door when she entered. His face transformed from a drunken stare to a look of recognition.   
  
"You." he jabbed a finger at the midwife. "You." he said again, rising. He stood, shakily and swaggered awkwardly to where the midwife stood. "Iff in wern' fer you an yer pars-sl-ley ," he tripped over his drunken tongue, "then I wou'nah haf' to climb into yer gardennn an' take some ofit an' my wifffe wou'nah be mad a' me." He hiccupped. "Wha' dyou haf to haf a gardennn fer an'way? You-you ol' witch?!" he cackled, inebriatedly, "You ol' ogressss-ruinin' peoplezzz livzzz, cursing themmmm!" He slumped into a chair, mumbling incoherently.  
  
For most of his outburst the midwife had stayed relatively calm. She had seen a drunk man angry before. But now, she could not stand it any longer. A witch! An ogress! She knew he was drunk, but the insults hurt. It felt as though someone was poking with a million small needles. Oh what she wouldn't give for someone who understood! Someone who wouldn't see her as just an old witch! She felt the pain becoming rage inside her.   
  
"How do you know I won't put one on you?!" she spat. The candle maker, drunk and looking unlike himself, with his unkempt hair and clothes, blinked, confused. Then, realizing his life was at stake, he became sober and began to plead with the midwife for his life. "Oh pleez, oh pleez don' put a curssse on me! Pleez, I'll do an'thing, an'thing!"  
  
The midwife, who had no intention of cursing him, who didn't know how to put a curse on him, turned to go. She was angry and hurt, and knew that her blow up would just make her seem more of a witch. She bit her lip and forced back the tears. She thought for a moment, turned, and asked God to forgive her for what she was about to do.  
  
"I will spare you, " she announced to Nathyn, and the room, which was watching the spectacle, "on one condition." She closed her eyes and thought of having her own little girl who would love her and stay by her side until she died. Her eyes flicked open and she tried to keep her voice steady as she said, "You must allow me to raise your child." And with that she turned and left the Tavern.  
  
~^~*~^~ 


	6. Petrosinella

Hello again to all my readers. I'll bet you thought I would never post again-but I HAVE! Sorry about the delay but I've been REALLY busy. Fortunately, the school year is ending soon and I will have plenty of time to work on Petrosinella. So Enjoy!Tarlea  
  
Nathyn yelped as a sharp sting tingled along his scalp. He opened one bloodshot eye to see Gaethryn, the innkeeper's burly wife, peering at him. With one fist she held a handful of his sandy hair, and the other she now brought round to slap his face. Awake now, Nathyn shook himself free of the husky woman's grasp, stumbled backwards, and tripped over and upturned a chair. He picked himself up and stood still to let his head stop spinning. He made his way to the large tavern door and squinted as the sunlight shined in from outside. He leaned against the wall of the tavern and looked up at the swinging sign above the door. A sudden urge made him double over, and he wretched. He wiped his mouth and found a grove of bushes not far off, fumbled with his buttons, and relieved himself. His steps becoming steadier, Nathyn headed home, stopping at the well to draw a bucket of cool water to splash on his face. When he did arrive home, he half climbed, half tripped up the stairs and crawled into bed.  
  
The midwife cupped her hands around her mug of hot sour ale and sipped slowly. She would have to find a place secluded, in the forest perhaps, easy to gather herbs near, and far enough away from the village that no one would disrupt the child's schooling. They would start when the child had reached the age of 10, and she would learn to become a midwife. Then, when the time came near for the old woman to die, they would move into the village and the girl would became the midwife for the village. It all worked out perfectly, and the woman could hardly wait for the child to be born and grow to be 10. She put down her mead and left for Jake-the-cartographer's shop.  
  
She spent hours perusing his maps until she found what she was looking for. On one of the older maps, in the heart of Barlutte Wood, to the east of the town, showed the ruins of an ancient castle. It was far into the forest and, so Jake said, abandoned since an ancient war long ago. The midwife hummed to herself as she rolled up the map, paid her silver coin to the cartographer, and left the shop.  
  
Nathyn slept until noon, awoke, ate some bread and an onion, and went back to sleep. When he awoke again the sun was just sinking below the horizon. To his surprise, Aevyn was not up and about, but also felt under-the-weather, as she had spent most of the night fuming, and fretting, and then crying, and not really sleeping.   
  
Nathyn laid in bed staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling. He could remember little about the night before. He remembered the quarrel with his wife, and going to the tavern, and the next thing he remembered was the innkeeper's wife holding me aloft by his hair. He thought about the argument with Aevyn, and felt a sinking sense of remorse. He rolled over on his side and looked at Aevyn sleeping contentedly. He slowly traced the contours of her face, thinking what a beautiful creature she was. Suddenly, he eyes fluttered open. Nathyn looked her square in the eyes and said "I'm sorry." She smiled slowly and closed her heavy lids, and returned to her dreams.  
  
Over in the cottage by the garden, the midwife dreamed that a gleeful young girl with golden hair and rosy cheeks stole her bottle of olives and sat eating them on her wall.  
  
The week passed slowly, and Aevyn never rose from the bed. She slept mostly, and ate, and called for Nathyn night and day. Then, on Saturday evening when the full moon shone brightly, and John-the-tinker lay in the stables with the bailiff's wife and called her his dear; when the farmhands drank the farmer's ale and sang songs of pretty wenches, Aevyn, in her room above the small candle shop, was in labor. Nathyn ran to the smithy, slapped his lackey awake, and gave him three silver coins and told the boy to run as fast as he could to the manor house and fetch the midwife there, threatening that, if he went a-wenching, or dawdled, that he's be horsewhipped. An hour passed, and Nathyn paced the floor while the parson's wife sat with Aevyn, wiping her brow with a cool cloth, and praying with her. They said the Novena to St. Erasmus, patron saint of birth pains, childbirth, and women in labor and St. Margaret of Antioch, the patron saint of pregnant women, safe childbirth, and against loss of milk in mothers.   
  
As the town crier called the times at ten-o-clock, the lackey burst through the door followed by the midwife from the manor house who kicked the men out of the room, rolled up her sleeves and began her work. The yelps and screams and curses that issued from the room led Nathyn to believe that his wife was being tortured by demons, and frightened the lackey away to the tavern, where the three ducats bought a flask of ale and the freckled Gaethryn's daughter as his companion.  
  
It seemed like years to Nathyn before the chamber door was opened and the midwife, wiping her hands, went to fetch some sour ale or mugwort tea for the mother to drink. Nathyn, looking very disheveled, rushed into the room to see an exhausted Aevyn, with a small sleeping child at her breast. She looked up and grinned at him, tears rolling down her cheeks.   
  
"It's a girl," she said, pausing. "You're not disappointed?"  
  
Beaming with pride he replied, "No. She's beautiful." and with that he leaned down and kissed both mother and child, and beckoned the town crier who had been waiting beneath the window. And, in the stable and at the pond, and the smithy, the townspeople raised their heads as they heard the lusty voice of the town crier proclaim "On this day, the twenty-sixth of May-at twelve and a half hours, a girl-child, yet unnamed, was born to Nathyn-the-candlemaker, and his wife, Aevyn. Mark you well, for this is a joyous occasion, and blest by God!"  
  



	7. The Birthday Olives

Author's Note:Before anything-I have to say thank you to some sources I used for this chapter:

The Patron Saints Index.

The University of Notre Dame Latin Translation page

Freetranslations.com

Now-enjoy!Tarlea

Aevyn Stuck out her finger and watched the tiny fingers curve around it. She grinned broadly and looked at Nathyn, who was sitting beside her. He looked at her apologetically and sighed.  
  
"What about Alyce?" she tried.  
  
"Alyce? No. Too ordinary. Besides, that's the schoolteacher's name."  
  
Aevyn gave him a look. She had planned on everything pointing to a girl, but she had not thought of a name. She sighed again and said, "Have you seen her little birthmark? It almost like a sprig of parsley. It's very peculiar."   
  
Nathyn scowled. Then the child let out a gurgle and he broke into a laugh. "Why don't we call her parsley then?" Nathyn joked.  
  
"Well, let's see," Aevyn said thoughtfully, "What's the Latin word for 'parsley'?"  
  
Nathyn thought for a moment. "Apium" he recited.   
  
Suddenly, a clicking noise outside the window made them turn. Nathyn climbed out of the bed and looked into the square below. There he saw Fabrizzio, the Italian peddler who sold fine foods and silks and spices from afar. Nathyn got an idea. "Halloah there!" he hailed the peddler. Fabrizzio put down his small cart and the clicking wheels fell silent. "Can you tell me the word for parsley, in Italian?"  
  
"Ah! Signor! Where Iya-come-from they call her petrosinella!" he called up in his Neopolitan accent.  
  
Aevyn, who had heard the Signor yelling, smiled at her dear child and breathed her name "Petrosinella."   
  
Ten years passed quickly and happily for Aevyn, Nathyn, and Petrosinella. At the age of 12 months Petrosinella said her first word, to the delight of her father, "Papa." At 6, she had a severe cold and was sick in bed for a week. At 9 she was versed in Latin, and had embroidered her first sampler. She had learned how to spin from the spinner-woman, and she was loved by one and all. She often asked about who it was that lived in the cottage beside the high wall, but she soon learned not to speak of it to her parents. She asked the old washerwoman, and she had told Petrosinella the legend of the bookkeeper's wall and the midwife's garden.   
  
The Midwife spent those eleven years in the ruins of Vegodi Castle, preparing it for Petrosinella's arrival. The west wing of the castle was beyond repair, but some of the chambers and ramparts in the east wing had survived the ancient fire, including a tall tower that rose above the rest. A tall winding staircase led up to the small room, but the view from its only window was worth the climb. From the arced stone hung molding velvet curtains, and tattered tapestries clung to the walls. Rotting furniture littered the chambers, mice scurried to and fro, but the castle had been well built, and only a few repairs had been needed. After furnishing the chambers, the midwife built an icehouse over the nearby stream, and set about transferring her herbs to a plot of land near the castle.   
  
Then, as the week of Petrosinella's tenth birthday drew near, the midwife watched and waited. Nathyn and Aevyn, oblivious to the midwife's schemes, prepared for the happy day. There was mincemeat and cake and sweet ale and ribbons and a maypole in the Town Square. Petrosinella stood in front of the small mirror in her bedroom. Her mother had made her a new dress for the occasion, and her long golden hair was bundled behind her, and gilded with flowers and ribbons.   
  
"Mother," she called down the stairs, "may we have the olives that Papa bought from Fabrizzio last week for dinner tonight?"  
  
Aevyn laughed to herself. If there were two things Petrosinella loved they were black olives and fresh parsley. Not being able to wait for an answer, Petrosinella flew down the stairs. Leaping off the last step. She laughed as she landed, gasping for breath.   
  
"Come here you, " Aevyn commanded cheerfully. The girl skipped over obediently. She let her mother straighten her skirt. Standing back for inspection Aevyn said, "Why don't you ask your father about the olives. You look so pretty today he just might give in." Petrosinella giggled, and scurried in the direction of the Town Square to find her father. Aevyn watched her go and thought had beautiful she was, and how quickly she had grown up.  
  
Petrosinella reached the square, where her father and several other men were nailing long ribbons to the maypole.   
  
"Papa!" Petrosinella hailed her father. Nathyn climbed down from atop his ladder and went to meet her. "How's my favorite girl?" he greeted her.  
  
"Oh, I'm fine Papa, " she said dismissively. "Mother says that I must ask you if we can have the black olives you bought from Fabrizzio for dinner tonight. So, can we?"   
  
Nathyn looked very stern and then broke into a laugh. "Well, what do you think I bought them for but to give them to my best girl? And such a pretty lady she is today!" he commented. Petrosinella giggled and dropped a curtsey before running back to help her mother.   
  
Meanwhile, deep in the heart of Barlutte Wood, the midwife poured water on her parsley patch. She had taken special care to nourish the lush plant, knowing that Petrosinella had a taste for the herb. Putting down her bucket, she took a pair of shears and clipped a bunch of the green stems. Gathering them in one hand, she expertly bound them in a piece of twine and carried the bushel inside the cool stone building. Plopping the parsley on the wooden table in the room she had fixed as the kitchen, she fetched a sheet of parchment, some ink, and her quill. Then, laying out the things on the table beside the bushel of parsley, she sat down and began to write.   
  
Aevyn and Nathyn stood and watched as Petrosinella and her friends held hands and danced in a circle. Petrosinella gave out a giggle. Her eyes were full of happiness and her cheeks were red and flushed. The dance ended, and the girl approached them, panting and laughing.   
  
"Oh Papa! What fun! This is the best birthday ever!" she trumpeted. Then, as the music started up again, she scrambled to join the dance. Aevyn looked at Nathyn happily and wiped away a tear. Nathyn pulled her into a tender kiss. The sound of someone calling his name made him turn. He saw Gaethryn at the edge of the square. She shouted again "Nathyn! Nathyn come 'ere-and bring th' missus!" There was an urgency in her voice that Nathyn understood. He turned back to his wife, looked at her gravely and said, "Lets go."   
  
"Come with me," Gaethryn beckoned to a bench a few feet away. Aevyn glanced back towards the square where Petrosinella was dancing gaily. Then she and Nathyn moved to the bench and sat down. Gaethryn, who was sweaty and unkempt and stank of ale, and might have been drunk herself, looked as serious as Nathyn had ever seen her.   
  
"You are good to come 'ere, an' listen to me talk. What I'm gonna tell ye, is very important. Begging your pardon missus," Gaethryn indicated Aevyn, "but you recall when you were in labor an' you an your 'usband 'ere 'ad a bit of a quarrel?"  
  
"Yes," Aevyn said, now alert with worry.   
  
"Well," Gaethryn said forbodingly, "your 'usband came into th' tavern that night, an' so did that witch of a midwife, the one what lives next door to ye." She paused to see the effect that her words were having. " Something 'appened that night that you must know about."   
  
Petrosinella sat and played hand games with her best friend Meg. The dancing had stopped, the musicians gone drinking with their wages, the food had been eaten, and a fire had been lit as the evening crept upon them. Suddenly, Petrosinella remembered the olives. She had left them at home! "Hang on Meg," she told her friend, "I've got to go to the house for something!" With that she jumped up and ran all the way to the small cottage. She climbed through the back window and scrambled to the kitchen. In the dimness of the moonlight that poured through the windows of the shop, she saw the jar of olives on the kitchen table. She grabbed it and made her way out the front door. She began to walk past the old wall, but then had a thought. She walked around to the huge locked gate, and, pushing herself up by the horizontal slats, she pulled herself up onto the top of the wall. She sat down on the top and dangled her legs beneath her. She giggled to herself and began work to open the jar of olives. She was having troubles. She was about to jump down off the wall and go find someone to open the jar for her, when she saw an old woman approaching her. "Auntie!" she hailed the woman.   
  
"Yes. My child?" the woman replied, smiling.   
  
"Can you open this jar of olives for me? It's my birthday and my Papa said we could have them for dinner but I forgot them so I had to come back and get them and then I climbed up here all by myself to eat them but now I can't get it open." She extended the jar.  
  
"Now let me see," said the old woman, putting down the bushel of parsley she was carrying, "hand me the jar."  
  
Petrosinella obediently tossed the jar down into the outstretched hands of the nice old lady. The woman took hold of the lid, strained for a moment, grunted, and then, the lid off, handed the jar back to Petrosinella, who nearly fell off the wall reaching for it. Petrosinella popped some of the olives into her mouth. The old woman watched her, smiling. Then, remembering her manners, Petrosinella offered some to the stranger. The mysterious woman refused, and then suddenly she was crying.   
  
"What's wrong, Auntie?" Petrosinella asked. The woman recovered and said, "Oh, I'm fine, Petrosinella. Are your parents around?"  
  
"No, they're in the square at my party with everyone else. But how did you know my name?"   
  
"I- know your parents," the woman explained.   
  
Then Petrosinella noticed the bundle that the old woman had been carrying. Her eyes lit up. "Is that parsley?" she asked.  
  
"Aye." Said the woman. "It's for my friend." She lied.  
  
"Oh." Said the girl disappointedly.   
  
"Do you like parsley?" the old woman asked.  
  
"Oh yes, very much! That's what my name means, in Italian."  
  
"Does it now?!" the woman feigned surprise. "Well, what a bright child you are! I wish I had some parsley to give you-" she looked troubled. Suddenly her face brightened. "I know! I have lot of parsley in my garden back at the castle that I live in."  
  
"You live in a castle?!" Petrosinella exclaimed excitedly.  
  
"Yes, I do. Vegodi Castle in the heart of Barlutte Wood. Do you know it?"  
  
"Oh yes," the girl replied "that's the one the old washer-woman is always telling me stories about!"  
  
"How would you like to come with me and live there? And then you could have fresh parsley whenever you wanted." The old woman coaxed.  
  
"Oh yes! I would like that very much!" the girl asserted.  
  
"Well, then, go and pack your things, and we'll be off."   
  
And the girl, now ten, did as she was told.


	8. A Father's Loss

"Aevyn? Aevyn darling please, wake up." Nathyn tried. He supported her with one arm and gently slapped her pale cheeks. As soon as Gaethryn had finished her story, Aevyn had fainted in shock. He tried again "Aevyn dear, come on, wake up." He kept slapping her cheeks to no avail. He shook her gently, making her head loll about. He kissed her. He pinched her cheek. He slapped her harder. Still she did not wake up.  
  
"Uh, Nathyn," Gaethryn urged, "begging your pardon, I think we 'ought to get back, seein' as that witch could come an' take the wee miss at any time." Nathyn looked up from his attempts. "You are right. But what can I do with Aevyn?" Gaethryn blinked at him and looked to Aevyn. "Pardon me sir," she said and then hefted Aevyn's limp body over her shoulder. Nathyn stared in astonishment until Gaethryn bellowed "Go on sir, we'll follow ye. She won't be 'urt, I promise. Go!" So off Nathyn went, running back to the square, with Gaethryn ambling along behind him, Aevyn slung over her shoulder like a drunken farmhand.  
  
When they reached the square, the fire had burned lower, and the villagers were gathering their belongings and heading home. Tired children lay upon their parents' shoulders, clutching a stick of licorice or a cube of dried ginger in their tiny hands. Nathyn ran to Meg's father, and asked the man if he had seen Petrosinella. "Sorry Nathyn, I haven't seen her. Meg, honey, " he roused his daughter, "do you know where Petrosinella went?" Meg yawned and rubbed her eyes; "She went to get the olives." Then she laid her head back down and closed her eyes. Her father looked at Nathyn apologetically. Nathyn thanked him and started for the house, followed by Gaethryn and the still unconscious Aevyn.  
  
Nathyn reached the door first, and between pants and gasps for air, he called out for Petrosinella. When he heard no response he opened the door and began to search the house. Gaethryn, arriving later, ducked under the door and laid Aevyn down on the kitchen table. She then ravaged the cupboards for some ale. Finding a flask, she splashed half of it on the pale face and the other half she poured down Aevyn's throat. Aevyn stirred and woke, coughing. "Ah 'ere we are!" Gaethryn proclaimed as she helped Aevyn sit up. "Where's my husband?" Aevyn asked in a small shaky voice. " 'E's gone a-lookin' fer yer wee one, darlin',"she twitched her thumb at the stairway, "upstairs."  
  
Nathyn burst into Petrosinella's small room. The lantern by the door had been lit, and the drawers in her bureau hung open like empty tombs. By the mirror lay bits of ribbon and the scissors that her mother had used to bind her hair that very morning. Then Nathyn saw it. On the bed, next to an empty jar, was a bushel of rich, green parsley. Nathyn clenched his fists and walked towards the bed. There was a small sealed letter sitting next to the bushel. Nathyn snatched it up and tore open the seal. It read:  
  
"Dear Sir,  
  
Ten years ago, we struck a bargain. In return for my parsley, you would give me your child. Tonight, I fulfilled that bargain. Do not worry after Petrosinella, she will be well cared for. Do not attempt to find her, for if you do there will be severe consequences. Herein ends our association. I wish you joy and happiness in the coming years.  
  
-The Midwife"  
  
Nathyn crumpled the letter in his fist. He bit his lip and tried to suppress the hot tears that were welling behind his eyes. He knew there was no hope. She was lost to him forever. His darling girl. His "little treasure". If only he hadn't been so foolish! He bent and picked up the parsley, sick even to be holding it. He walked downstairs, consumed by grief and guilt. He passed by Aevyn and Gaethryn, and walked stolidly to the fireplace. He ignored Aevyn's inquiries, and for several minutes, stood rigidly and stared into the flame. Suddenly, he flung the bushel of parsley into the fire, watching it burn. When the flames had consumed the tiny green sprigs, Nathyn fell to the floor and wept violently.  
  
Deep in the forest, the old midwife climbed into bed beside Petrosinella, blew out her candle, and smiled. 


	9. The Aftermath

"AUNTIE Eddy!" called Petrosinella. "Can I water the parsley today?"

In the kitchen, the midwife, whose name was in fact Edessa, sliced off a hunk of cheese for her breakfast and grinned. It felt good to be called by her name again, and not merely "the old midwife." No one in the village had ever bothered to learn her name, and she had stopped bothering to give it. It didn't matter really, her aunt had told her that once she began her practice she would be identified by her profession alone, such as the butcher, the baker, or the smithy. Petrosinella called her "Auntie Eddy" for short, and she in turn called Petrosinella "Pet."

There was another appeal from the garden and Edessa, as we must now call her, put down her things and walked out into the sunny morning. There Petrosinella stood, almost completely obscured by the cumbersome bucket wrapped in her tiny arms. Edessa wiped her hands on her apron and started towards the well. When she had gone a few steps, she stopped and turned to look back at Petrosinella, who was standing in the yard watching her.

"Well, come along Pet, you can't water the parsley with air now can you?" she teased.

A burst of laughter spurred Petrosinella forward who reached the simple well and climbed onto the stone base to peer over the edge into the deep water. She liked the well, because it reminded her of her parents. By the end of her first week at Vegodi Castle she had been quite ready to go home, but Auntie Eddy had told her that her parents would come and get her when they were ready. Small drops made ripples in the glassy water. It had been months and they had not come for her yet.

But Auntie Eddy was kind, and Petrosinella was content with her life at the castle. She did miss having friends to play with. She learned a lot form Auntie Eddy, but when she wanted to play, the old woman would be tired, and she wasn't very good at playing games. She would always hide in the easiest places when they were playing hide-and-seek, and sometimes she wouldn't even come look for Petrosinella. Whenever they played tag, the midwife would sprain an ankle or pull a muscle and she would have to go into the kitchen for ointment, quickly ending the game. The only game the Auntie Eddy _could_ play was blindman's bluff, and even then it would take her hours to find Petrosinella because she was so worried about getting hurt that she went painstakingly slow. _If only I could find a friend, _Petrosinella thought, _then I wouldn't be so unhappy. _

Petrosinella heard the midwife shuffling and panting along the path behind her. She hastily rubbed the tears from her eyes and tried to conceal the fact that she had been crying. If the midwife noticed her rosy nose and red eyes, she said nothing, and the two set about cranking the water. The old woman did most of the work, but she allowed Petrosinella to hold onto the crank and put it up while she pushed down. Then splish-splash back to the small garden by the kitchen to water the eager patch of parsley.

Edessa watched the girl at her work. The midwife looked after her garden with all of the care that she had shown it before, and more besides, because she was not employed, but the parsley she left to Petrosinella. She showed the girl how to pull the weeds around it, how to harvest it, how to dry and bottle it, and how to prepare foods with it. In the Spring she would teach her to plant it.

"Come along, Pet," she called as Petrosinella finished, "it's time for your breakfast." And, hand in hand, they went inside.

--

NATHYN was out again. Ever since the night Petrosinella had vanished he would go out every night to the Sword and Strumpet and get drunk. At 3am Gaethryn would hoist his unconscious body over her shoulder, take him home, and lay him on the kitchen table where Aevyn would find him in the morning. Aevyn looked out the window of her bedroom and sighed. "Oh dear Lord--" she prayed, and he voice broke into pitiful sobs. When she had collected herself she took up the prayer again, "Lord, Heavenly Father," she said as though using the multiple names would make God more amiable. "Please, please, bring my husband out of this darkness." She paused, sobbing again. In the dreary months that Petrosinella had been gone, the happy household had become a lonely, sorrowful place. Nathyn and she had grown apart, for though she had forgiven him, he was too overcome with guilt that he was isolated from her. It hurt her to see him suffer so, and be helpless to stop it. Some nights he would wake up drunk, and she would hear him climb the stairs into Petrosinella's room and weep. He always had a look on his face, even drunk, a gaze that consumed his expression. He was somewhere she could not reach.

The shop had remained closed for two months while Nathyn mourned, and searched fruitlessly. Now Aevyn continued to make soaps, and the women of the town took pity on her and were charitable, all the while saying what a shame it was that such a fine man as Nathyn should have taken to the drink, though one could hardly blame him, the poor dear. Some of the gossip was not so kind. She overheard whispers at church, which she now attended alone-Nathyn was either drunk or asleep-that it didn't matter if his child had run away, he had no right to drink like a sailor, and several of the mothers called him a "good-for-nothing drunkard". Aevyn bore their stinging insults in silence, but many lonely nights she sobbed at the truth of their words.

Aevyn wiped her eyes, startled out of her reverie by a sudden idea. Perhaps this would save Nathyn, and bring her husband back to her. She clasped her hands and bowed her head, finishing her prayer. "Dear Lord, send me another child, help my husband to find joy in this new life, and not dwell so on the loss of our dear sweet girl. May I remain Your humble servant forever and ever, Amen."

With that she turned away from the window. She placed her hand on her stomach, as if she expected Gabriel to appear and tell her she was to bear a son. She did not sleep, but paced, waiting for Gaethryn to deposit Nathyn and leave. When she heard the click of the door accompanied by a thud and a grunt, she descended the stairs and entered the kitchen. There lay Nathyn, breathing slowly. He stank of ale and a messy patch of hair hid his face.

Watching him there on the table brought the tears back to her eyes. What had happened to the sweet, smooth-faced Nathyn she had married? Was he somewhere inside this drunken brute? She hoped so. Aevyn moved and locked the door. She approached Nathyn's body and undressed him. She removed her own clothing and, gathering up her resolve, and fighting back her tears, she approached this stranger, and hoped for a boy.

--


	10. Harborton

Harborton

The years passed slowly by for Petrosinella and the old midwife. They kept to the wood, the midwife traveling sometimes through the forest to the village that lay on the eastern side where she was unknown. It was a port city, and so many people came and went that no one bothered to notice the old woman who quietly did her shopping.

Petrosinella grew older, and more beautiful, with shining golden hair that flowed round her face in gentle waves that made her look oh so much like her mother. She gained an intelligent gaze, and read constantly. The midwife grew older too, and became weak and feeble. During the day she would sit in the kitchen with Petrosinella, in a wheeled chair that Petrosinella had cleverly fashioned from an old cart. In the afternoon, the Midwife would supervise as the young girl tended her garden, and after an early supper, would return to her bed and snore loudly. Petrosinella liked this, as she could have the evenings as her own, to sit and pour over books, or to watch the sun set from her glorious tower, and the twinkling stars emerge.

One consequence of the midwife's convalescence was seen in her herb trade. She could no longer go to market, so she was forced to send Petrosinella to the village by the sea to barter for the goods they needed. When she went, the old woman instructed her to dress as a boy, and to keep to her business and come straight back. Petrosinella became shrewd bargainer, and sometimes had enough money left to indulge in a small bottle of olives, which she kept hidden in her room, and munched secretly during her stolen evenings alone.

One morning, the midwife sat in the kitchen, watching Petrosinella label jars of herbs and thinking. Petrosinella was in a good mood this day, it was lovely and fair, and she hoped to finish her chores early and steal outside with a book. She hummed a little as she worked, then began singing.

"Petrosinella." the midwife said commandingly.

"Yes Aunt Eddy?" Petrosinella said, sensing more chores. Aunt Eddy had become so tiresome lately!

"I need you to go into the village today." Petrosinella's heart sunk. There went her afternoon outside.

"Yes, Aunt." she sighed, and leaned closer over her work. It wasn't that she didn't like going to the village, in truth there were so many things to see. She liked to sit on the edge of the square and watch all the people making their deals in the marketplace. That was, if she could spare the time. Aunt Eddy was very strict about the time. She was to be back always by sundown, and that left very little time to do anything else. The midwife proffered a small piece of parchment, a grocery list.

"Here, take this. And be sure you deal with the fishmonger, and not his lackwit clodpole of an apprentice. He cheated you last time." Petrosinella rolled her eyes. In her old age, the midwife was always believing someone had cheated her in some way.

"Yes, Aunt."

That afternoon, with the old woman's snores echoing through the castle, Petrosinella pulled on her boy's boots, and prepared for her journey to the village. Her cascades of hair were tightly bound and tucked under a ridiculously large hat. She doubted that she fooled anyone anymore, but Aunt Eddy insisted, and she liked the freedom that the trousers gave her. She set out with her bundles of herbs for sale, including her own prized parsley. She broke off one sprig and chewed contemplatively as she picked her way through the deep woods she knew by heart.

Petrosinella reached the village and went to the market broker. "Ah, young peter," the man smiled, noticing Petrosinella, "and what do you have for me today?" Petrosinella left his stand with a purse of silver coins and threaded her way through the busy crowds to find the fishmonger. "Well 'ello petey, pete, pete." the fishmonger's apprentice spat at her. He was noticeably drunk.

"Good day, Gillard." She replied stiffly. "Where is your master?"

"Mas'ter?" Gillard caterwalled. "I ain't got no mas'ter. Not-today."

"What do you mean?" Petrosinella snapped, annoyed with this drunken fool.

"He's gone. Lef' me in charge." Gillard said self-importantly. Then he looked furtive. He leaned closer, and she could smell the putrid stench of too much sour ale. "I know where he is though." He lowered his voice. "He's in the par'sonzuns's-stable." He giggled, drunkenly. Petrosinella frowned, disgustedly. "Don' you wan' to know with who?" the boy insisted. She didn't answer, but she could guess. "The parson's young wifffe, from over th' hill." He hiccupped. "My what a fin' philly she is. Th' parson's such a simp'leton he don' see past th' en' of hisss pulpit." At this he was taken by a violent fit of laughter. Suddenly, he lost his balance, and fell towards her, knocking her over. He lay on top of her, still laughing. It was a wonder they weren't attracting attention. "Get off of me you drunken ox!" Petrosinella yelled at him. Gillard stopped laughing and tried to find purchase with his hands to push himself up. His hand scrabbled around her head as she tried to push him off, too. She could feel the pins that held her hat on begin to give.

"Get off you oaf!" she said again, hoping this would speed up the process. He finally managed to regain a shaky stance, and resumed his cackling. Petrosinella rose too, and suddenly felt the weight of her yellow hair falling, and spied her hat below her in the dust. Gillard stopped his laughter and his mouth hung open. "You're a--girl!" He bellowed, shocked. This time people began to look, and Petrosinella thought agitatedly that they hadn't been a moment before. She snatched up her hat and ran between two houses, Gillard flinging insults at her back, calling her a poxed whore and a "con-hic-niving bitch."

Petrosinella stopped in a dark alleyway and caught her breath. She looked down at the hat in her hand and furiously re-bundled her loose hair and tucked it away. She looked at the sky and knew the afternoon would go quickly, and the midwife would be cross if she returned without the fish. But she could not go back to Gillard. She did not trust the boy, and feared what he might attempt know he knew she was a woman. She knew she must find the fishmonger himself, so she started towards the parson's house.

Petrosinella listened to the singing coming from the nearby inn. One man's voice was particularly good, and reminded her of her father. She looked down at the ground, suddenly struck by a sharp sadness as her throat choked up. She pushed away thoughts of her parents and listened to the words of the song. There was a lady would not have a fair knight until he had obtained the most beautiful rose in the world from a frozen mountaintop. The rose garden was guarded by a fierce some dragon which the knight killed and went back to win his lady love. When it was over Petrosinella looked up at the sky. The sun swam dangerously on the horizon. Petrosinella sighed. She had been sitting outside the parson's stable, waiting for the fishmonger or the parson's wife to emerge. But as yet no one had appeared, and she was beginning to get hungry. She decided to go to the inn and get some food to bring back and watch. With this in mind, she started towards the inn.

As she walked, Petrosinella thought about Aunt Eddy, snoring away in her bedroom. She would be cross when she heard what had happened. But it had not been her fault! She hadn't done anything but what the midwife wanted her to, and she would tell her so. She would not allow the midwife to guilt her this time. At the door of the inn, Petrosinella stopped and judged the weight of her coin purse, figuring what she could afford. Then her hand fell from the pouch, there was a sharp pain in her head, and then, blackness.

Tilman had been an innkeeper for years, and he and his wife took pride in their establishment. Set in a port city, there were all sorts of guests, of every rank and station, who came to eat and sleep at his inn. It was a good inn, he knew. It was clean, and he boasted some twelve rooms, four of which had down pillows, and all of which contained clean linen and a chamber pot. Fen, his rosy wife, cooked the food for the inn, and a heartier meal you couldn't find anywhere else in Harborton. Business was very good.

Now, that business was threatened. Tilman had a body lying in front of his inn. A young boy, thin and awkward, lay face down in the dirt under the inn's swinging sign. The innkeeper wasn't sure what to do with the boy. If he just left him there, people might think that his inn was one of scoundrels and drunkards, and that was no good. On the other hand, it wasn't his business if this young lad gotten so drunk that he had passed out in the street. Probably a cabin boy, Tilman thought, looking at him, so excited to be on land again that he went and spent all his wages on drink. He heard his wife call from inside. "Tilman? Tilly darling? Where are you?"

"Out here." He said distractedly.

"Why what ever can you be doing out here in the dar--oh dear!" This last was in response to the body as she came out of the door. "Oh Tilly, whatever happened? Poor soul." And she bent down to get a better look at him. "It's not anyone we know." she said, matter-of-factly. "What ever are you going to do with him"  
"I'm not sure." He nudged the unconscious body with his foot. "Well," she said decisively, "we can't very well leave him here." And with that, she hooked an arm under the slender body and looked up at her husband. He bent down and helped her carry this strange young boy into the inn. Inside the inn was warm and bright, and a blazing fire pushed its warmth against the cool evening as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. 


	11. Lon

Lon

When Petrosinella awoke she was in a modest room with a window through which shone bright midday's rays. Petrosinella sat up to draw the curtains and shut out the light, but when she lifted her head she was suddenly nauseous and dizzy, and decided to give up the objective. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how she had gotten there. She remembered coming to the inn for dinner. Had she been slipped to much to drink? Was this what a hangover was like? She suddenly became worried. What had she said or done last night? Had she revealed her identity yet again? Even now, her hair hung down in sheets, there could be no mistake about her identity. Then the thought struck her. Aunt Eddy! How long had she been here? Was it only the next morning or was it a week since she had ventured into town? She wished someone were here to tell her what had happened, and unexpectedly, her wish was granted. In bustled a rosy woman with a basin and a pitcher of water. She stopped when she saw that her patient was awake.

"Well hello there, Rip Van Winkle." She cheerily teased. Petrosinella suddenly became embarrassingly aware of her near nakedness. Someone had removed her clothes down to her shift.

"How long have I been asleep," Petrosinella asked, making another attempt to sit up. She shook her head as it complained, but in a minute the dizziness passed, and she could think clearly.

"Oh, about a day, and this morning." Came the reply.

"I have to go home," Petrosinella struggled against her reeling head to stand up and reached for her clothes. Which were snatched immediately from her hands.

"Oh no you don't," the rosy face looked stern. "You're not well enough to be going anywhere." At this point, Petrosinella was so dizzy she couldn't argue. She sat back down on the bed, and gathered the covers round her to cloak her exposed legs.

"Now then," the voice addressed her again. "My name is Fen, and my husband and I run this inn." She handed Petrosinella the basin and a cloth and watched as she cleaned herself. "Who exactly are you?" The question was very matter of fact, and perhaps a bit sharp.

"I'm Peter." She did not look the woman in the eye. The woman seemed satisfied enough.

"Well then, Peter," there was specific irony placed upon her name, but Petrosinella ignored it. "Do you remember anything at all about what happened?" Petrosinella treid again. Again she remembered standing in front of the inn, checking her money bag, and then--"I think I may have been hit from behind." Petrosinella reached a hand back and felt a small welt underneath the mounds of hair.

"So it would seem." Fen replied, then added, "Your coin purse is missing." Petrosinella looked to her clothes. The woman was right. She didn't know what to say.

"So, no what?" She finally asked.

"Well, you're in no condition to travel, so you must stay here." It was said firmly but kindly. Petrosinella was about to protest when Fen interrupted her, "Now then! You'll want some lunch I expect, and I've got just the thing." She was hungry.

"Thank you." She said lamely. This was answered by a broad grin as Fen scooped up the cleaning materials and left the room.

In twenty minutes she came back with a steaming bowl of something that smelled delicious. She also brought with her a plain dress, and a comb, which she left wordlessly on the edge of the bed and returned downstairs. Petrosinella looked at the dress. She supposed she ought to wear it at this point. After eating, she put it on, and set about working her hair into a manageable twist. It felt good to be a girl again, it took some of the deceit away from her being. Then she decided to venture downstairs into the main room of the inn. She could take a seat by the fire and doze if she wanted to, and there would be plenty to see from her corner. She hoped her plain dress would be enough to detract attention. With that thought in mind, she started slowly down the stairs, ignoring the dull protest from her aching head.

To her dismay, Petrosinella found that she could not help sleeping a great deal, instead of observing the guests. She was not sure how long she would stay, but she knew she must get better as soon as she could, even though Fen seemed willing to bestow any hospitality upon her. She had asked Petrosinella that evening if there were anything she might like, and Petrosinella, feeling a bit guilty, mentioned that she might like a book. Fen managed to dig up one of the few that sat upon the shelf in the main room, a dusty tome that detailed the proper use of arms and munitions. It wasn't her normal choice of perusal, but it was something to read, and she found herself grateful for it. On the fourth day, Petrosinella felt well enough that she could make the journey, and she constantly worried about Aunt Eddy's health and welfare, but it stormed so harshly that Fen simply wouldn't hear of it. That evening, as she sat by the fire, watching the other guests who took refuge from the torrent outside, in came a young boy, about eight, wet and apprehensive. Fen's husband, a sensible man who was not entirely without compassion, came to address him.

"And what can I do for you little master?" He asked, kindly.

"I'd like a room for the night." The boy proclaimed, trying to pretend he was brave, and not scared stiff

"Yes, sir little master." He gazed at the small bundle that the boy clutched to him. "Waiting for your parents, no doubt?"

"No. It's just me. I'm by myself." He seemed a bit proud of the fact. Tilman chuckled.

"I see. And how were you expecting to pay for this room of yours?"

The boy looked worried for a moment, and then reached into his bundle. He pulled out half a dozen fine candles. "Here." He said, thrusting them towards the innkeeper. Tilman inspected them. They were of fine quality, and each worth a silver. "Very Well." He said finally. "You shall have your room. Master…?"

"Lon." the boy blurted, searching the room furtively.

"Very well. Master Lon, if you would follow me, I'll show you to your room."

Petrosinella grinned. He was a cute boy, and quite brave. She wondered where he had run from. And why? What injustice had his parents inflicted upon him to cause him to run away from home on a night like this?  
Presently he returned, sans bundle, and took a seat the floor near the fire, across from Petrosinella. He kept gazing nervously at her. She pretended not to notice, and when he was not looking, she observed him. He was thin and gangly and had a full head of curly nut-brown hair. This time he looked up and caught her gaze. "Hello." she said kindly.

"Hi." he shot, then turned back to the fire. He was silent. Petrosinella grinned inwardly. She tried again.

"Your name's Lon, isn't it?" He didn't answer. She leaned back in her chair and gazed back into the fire. At length, he replied.

"Yeah, my name's Lon." He said warily. She sat up and smiled at him.

"Ah, Lon. And why are you running away from home?" He looked at her, shocked, and then softened. She was so pretty, he could trust her. At this point he seemed on the edge of tears. His voice came out as a miserable mumble. "Daddy got mad at me and threatened to make me spend an afternoon with old widow Martin. And she smells bad and snores and it's oh so boring. Besides that," he leaned forward confidentially, " she poisons children. And drops them in the well at night when no one is looking. She gets the night watchman drunk so he won't notice."

"Oh." Petrosinella said, as though he were entirely justified. She did her best not to laugh. The night watchman undoubtedly got drunk on his own, and the rest was child's fancy. "Well, then, I guess it's a good thing you did run away then."

Now that she had opened him up he chattered incessantly. All about his journey here from a far away town, he had run away the day before you know. He was going to hire himself onto a ship and run away to sea. Fen brought him some dinner, which eh gulped down as he talked animatedly of his plans. Petrosinella told him of her life in the forest, leaving out some details, and then, when his dinner was finished and his eyelids began to get heavy, Petrosinella declared with a yawn that she must get some sleep, and he of course agreed that he was sleepy too, and they went to bed. Petrosinella lay down and looked at the rain outside her window. She would set out for the castle in the morning, when the rain had stopped.


	12. Midwife Meg

Author's Note: This may be my last post for a while as my school projects are all culminating and exams begin soon, so I'll be really busy doing schoolwork and studying and stuff. On the other hand, I may post more often in an attempt to procrastinate. Enjoy! 

_Midwife Meg_

But the rain did not stop. Petrosinella was awakened by a loud crash of lighting outside her window. She didn't know what time it was, and there was no sun outside to give her a clue. She felt hungry and thought that Lon must be quite unsettled by the storm and in need of a friend, so she dressed and went downstairs to find some breakfast, and the boy.

When she entered the room, Petrosinella spotted the boy sitting by the fire, looking considerably ruffled, and trying to appear calm. He was eating a crisp roll in small, nervous pieces and, Petrosinella noted, making a right mess. She smiled and went to find Fen. Soon she returned to the room with a steaming breakfast and her book. She walked over to stand where Lon was sitting, now attacking his eggs with a hungry ferocity.

"Mi'lord." Petrosinella said playfully. "Might I have the great honor of dining with you this stormy morn?" He looked up at her and grinned.

"Yep." He simply answered. Petrosinella made a little curtsy and, carefully balancing her plate, floated down to sit on the floor beside him.

Breakfast finished, lunch came and went, and still the rain would not cease. Petrosinella did not mind. She was having a much better time here than she would with Aunt Eddy, and besides, Lon needed her more than the old midwife did! Soon it was late in the afternoon, and Petrosinella was attempting to teach Lon to read from the arms and munitions book. They were struggling through a passage about pole arms when there was a great cry and a crash from the kitchen. This was followed by more cries and a few curses that Petrosinella hoped that Lon did not hear. She stood and listened, her brow furrowing. The kitchen seemed to be in a frenzy. Fen's voice comforted and blathered prayers, Tilman's entered for a moment and then he was seen dashing out in the direction of the stables, and still the cries came.

Petrosinella knew what was going on. It seemed odd, she thought, that she had been trained as a midwife all these years, yet she had never seen a birth, nor helped a baby into this world. But this scene seemed just as Aunt Eddy had described to her, and she was eager to observe the manor house midwife, which was undoubtedly what Tilman had gone after. She turned to Lon and saw he was obliviously flipping through the book and looking at all the illustrations. She left him and dashed towards the kitchen.

If she had thought that watching the birthing would be fun, Petrosinella was not prepared for what met her as she entered the kitchen. It was hot, and the smell of rotting chicken and sweat met her nostrils. On the floor, with a blanket piled clumsily under her head, was Nancy, the young maid who helped Fen with her cooking, writhing and wailing in pain. Fen was beside her, trying to force some cool ale down the poor girl's throat. Petrosinella turned to escape the heat and the noise and the smell, but it was too late.

"You there, Meg girl!" Fen called her Meg, since Petrosinella had yet to give her an actual name. She stopped. "Go fetch the parson as fast as you can! Bring him back here! Make haste!"

Petrosinella ducked out of the kitchen, glad to be out of the chaos. She thought miserably about going outside, but borrowed a thick cape from the trapper who was staying at the inn and hurried out into the night. She arrived at the parson's house and hugged the narrow eves as she pounded upon his door. Fen called the parson whenever anything was wrong. But what could he do? She knocked again, and called out. Where was Tilman? The manor-house wasn't that far away. What was taking him so long? Petrosinella tried one last time and decided she would not stand out in the rain any longer. They would simply have to do without the parson for once.

When she burst through the inn door, wet and cold and wanting a place by the fire, she met Tilman, pacing up and down, with a flask in his fist. With every shriek, he winced and took another sip. He looked as though he'd rather be anywhere but there. After questioning she was able to find out that the manor house midwife was busy, and that there was no one else for miles. So, no parson and no midwife. Petrosinella watched the innkeeper pacing and thought.

If she helped, she would be calling attention to herself. But she could not just let Nancy suffer alone. She had to do something. But could she do it? She had studied herbs and tonics and she'd heard Aunt Eddy talk and talk about birthing, about how to coax the mother, and if that didn't work, to brow-beat her. She had learned chants and prayers and even some dances, but she had never actually birthed a baby before. Petrosinella closed her eyes, hearing Nancy's cries grow louder and more frantic. The poor girl was as scared as she was. Aunt Eddy also talked about miscarriages. Of babies that died inside the mother and had to be removed and buried. Sometimes the mother died when the baby lived. How could she hold two lives in her hands? She wished Aunt Eddy were here.

Her lip trembled and she began to cry silently, but with the tears streaming down her face, she told Tilman to keep trying for the parson, and then she pushed herself back into the kitchen.


	13. The Parson's Proposition

**The Parson's Proposition**

That night, being the foremost authority on childbirth, Petrosinella slept on the floor next to the bed where Nancy lay with her newborn babe. It was uncomfortable, but Petrosinella was so exhausted, that she fell asleep immediately. She felt relaxed and relieved. She had done it! And there slept mother and child, happy and healthy as ever. Wouldn't Aunt Eddy be proud! Petrosinella felt a pang as she thought about Aunt Eddy, and she truly did miss the old woman. This was her last thought as she drifted off to sleep.

She awoke to the baby's cries. The girl, who had been named Abilene, had honey-colored hair like her mother, and her father's curls. As Nancy blissfully fed the infant, Petrosinella started downstairs to get some breakfast. She felt stiff from sleeping on the floor, and still weary from the night before. She was stopped on the stair by the parson, followed by Fen and Geoffrey, the girl's curly-haired father. The parson seemed in earnest, and he swatted her back up the stairs with his heavy leather Bible.

Back inside the room, baby Abilene was nursing contentedly and the mother was watching her adoringly. When Petrosinella entered with the parson and the entourage behind her, Nancy gave out a cry that unsettled the babe and the room was a cacophony of baby's cries and parent's comfort's and the priests intelligible prayers. Finally, the babe was silenced, eating again, and the parson, now realizing he had his audience, took a pompous breath and began.

"That child," He began gravely, "is an abomination." He paused to let his words sink in. Nancy looked up at him, troubled. Fen looked worried. To her surprise, Petrosinella spoke first.

"What do you mean, father?" The parson's narrow eyes flicked to the corner where she was standing. "Who are you?" His tone was not kind.

"My name is Meg. I am the midwife." It felt good to say it. The midwife. Yes, she was.

"Very well." Came the reply, as though the subject weren't worth his time. Again he addressed the young mother. "Maid Nancy. You are not married, that is correct."

Nancy began to cry. "No father." She replied. The parson seemed satisfied. Petrosinella was disgusted with the man. "You are not married, and you have not the money to do so in the near future." This was to Geoffrey, who stood holding Nancy's hand.

"Well, father, I was working, in hopes that I could earn the money to afford the wedding fee, sir. To pay Lord Robbins and buy a place for us to live. If only I had had one more month father--" The parson held up a hand to silence the man. He reached into his robes and drew out a piece of parchment. "This is a letter of introduction to Sister Tabitha of the Convent of the Holy Cross in Camden. You are to go there and take your vows and devote your life to the Lord as penance for your licentious sin. The baby will be sent to the manor house and raised by the midwife there, and then apprenticed as a spinning woman. I have made the arrangements." There was a general outcry at this. Geoffrey protested with quite unchristian language, the priest broke into prayer, Petrosinella even offered her own protests. Nancy wailed and the baby with her. Only Fen remained in a distressed silence.

Petrosinella stepped forward. She had not birthed this baby to see it dragged away from its mother and raised by strangers. It was outrageous! "Father," she said sharply. The room fell silent, save for the whimpers of Abilene. "is there no alternative?" The clergyman looked smugly at her. "None."

"What if they were to get married?" Petrosinella looked him square in the eye, trying not to betray how nervous she was. "That is impossible. They have not the money. Besides, I'd not bless it."

"What if they had?" Petrosinella's mind was ticking away. The parson looked at her as if she were a roach he should like to squash. "What you say is impossible, but if…" Petrosinella moved toward the door in a swift stride. "Then stay here and do nothing. I'll return this very night with the money they need, and if you'll not perform the ceremony, then I'll find a clergyman who will!" And with that Petrosinella flew out the door and down the steps and into the sunny morning. For, she now noticed, the rain had stopped.


	14. The Reckoning

-1Author's Note: Hey guys. I think it may have been well over a year since I have even thought about this story. For those of you who were faithful readers, I apologize. I got to the point where I wasn't sure where to take the story, everything I wrote seemed stale, things got conveniently busy, and I started another fic, my POTC on Norrington. None of this makes up for the fact that I have left _Petrosinella_ untended for so long. I kinda got a bit tired of the story, lost my inspiration, and hopefully can pull it back. But for the future I should say that I can't guarantee how consistent my updates will be.

_The Reckoning_

Petrosinella made her way to Vegodi Castle, picking through the wet grass and dripping leaves of Barlutte Wood, her nostrils filled with the smell of the damp countryside, her heart filled with a mix of complicated emotions.

It had been almost a week since she had left the midwife on her errand to Harborton, and she was worried. She knew that Aunt Eddy was not well enough to travel and search for her, or else she would have come immediately. Left to herself, the old woman would fret too much, as she always did, and would be in a right frenzy when Petrosinella arrived. Worse, the girl's conscience tugged at her, what if something bad had happened to Aunt Eddy while she was gone? What if she had fallen really ill or was in danger? Perhaps the storms had broken the roof and she would find Aunt Eddy lying helpless under a beam somewhere, or else caught in a draft from a hole in the roof and fair dying of fever…. Petrosinella shook her head firmly to clear it of such fanciful thoughts.

Her worries then switched to a different topic. What of Nancy and Geoffrey and little Abilene? Would the Parson allow them to marry even if she was able to get the money? Could she raise enough to pay Lord Robbins's fee? She told herself that she must. A tear or two escaped her as she remembered what it was like being severed from her parents. She couldn't bear the thought of Abilene suffering such a fate. Her plan _must _succeed.

Finally the stone walls of Vegodi appeared on the horizon, and Petrosinella was heartened at the familiar sight of her home. Closing the ancient wooden door behind her, she stopped to hang up her cloak and slide her feet out of her shoes, just as if she had returned from a normal day at Harborton Market. She entered the kitchen, and was relieved to see Aunt Eddy, sitting in a chair facing the fire.

"Aunt Eddy!" She cried out, rushing to the chair and flinging her arms about the old woman and kissing her fondly. "I missed you! I'm sorry I stayed away so long…" Her voice trailed off as she noticed the solemn look on the midwife's wrinkled face. "Aunt Eddy, what's wrong?" She asked softly. There was a moment of tense silence. Then the older woman spoke.

"Petrosinella, where have you been child?" Every word was spoken sharply, accusingly.

"In Harborton, m'am." The girl mumbled contritely.

"All this time? Petrosinella you are lying to me. I want the truth. Where have you been?"

"I told you Aunt. I was in Harborton. I got hit on the head and robbed. I was unwell so Fen and Tilman cared for me at their inn. And then I met Lon and all sorts of nice people--"

The midwife twitched dangerously at the mention of Lon's name. "I don't want to hear any more of this fabrication. Are you well now, child?"

"Yes, Aunt." A pause. "But I have to go back there tonight."

"Back--what on earth for?! You must do nothing of the sort. You are to stay here and fulfill your duties to me! Do you realize what I have gone through these few days without you?!" Her voice lost some of it's sternness and began to waver. "After I took you in, kept you when your parents died, that you should be abandoning me so--it is most unkind."

"But I have to Aunt! I delivered a baby you see, and her mother--"

"A baby? Pet, you delivered your first baby?" Edessa's surprise broke through her anger.

"Yes, I did Aunt. All on my own. A fine healthy girl. Abilene." Petrosinella straightened, beaming proudly.

"Well, bless my soul. I'm very proud of you Pet."

"Thank you, Aunt." Petrosinella found she was suddenly overcome with emotion, and tears glistened in both pairs of eyes. Then she remembered her mission. "Aunt I must go back there. Please, try to understand. Nancy--the baby's mother--she needs to marry the father and they don't have the money--"

The severe look had returned to Aunt Eddy's face. "I'll hear nothing more about these Harborton folk. They don't concern you. You belong here with me. You did well to deliver the child. Let the father handle the rest. Now, it's near midday. You must be hungry. Go into the kitchen ad make us both some nice hot soup, and we'll not say another word about it."

Petrosinella thought of the worried look on Nancy's face and the way she had clung to her baby when Parson Ferris had mentioned sending her to the manor house.

"But Aunt--they need my help! If they don't marry the parson's going to take her baby away! I can't let him do that! I have to stop him!"

"Petrosinella! I absolutely forbid you to see any of those people again!"

Petrosinella turned up her chin and tossed her head defiantly--looking very much like her father, the midwife noted alarmingly. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to disobey you Aunt."

With that she stormed from the room and began running through the castle, gathering anything that might fetch a price. Herbs of all kinds--bottled, dried, and fresh; some small birds she had carved from the birch trees near her tower, even some of her beloved books. She loaded them in a wheelbarrow just outside the door. Before she left, she turned to where Aunt Eddy still sat before the kitchen fire, her hands slowly working to mend a tunic.

"Goodbye Aunt," she said softly, her voice a little unsure and unsteady. "I'll be back late. I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you earlier. I hope you'll forgive me." Then she was gone, through the doorway and out into the wood, as the afternoon sun sank ever lower on the horizon.

--

Edessa sat before the fire, watching the flames die out as the shadows stretched and the hours ticked by. Her mind was filled with the same thoughts that always plagued her in the long quiet hours of the evening. She worried about Petrosinella. The girl had reached an age where she was unfathomable, and uncontrollable. An age where she could be corrupted by the words of the outside world, where she could find young people more worth her time than a sick old woman. She didn't listen anymore! Tears sprang anew as the old midwife worried for the thousandth time about losing her precious Petrosinella.

Ever since the night of Petrosinella's tenth birthday, Edessa had been plagued by nightmares and waking worries that someday Petrosinella, the one thing in her life she held most dear, would be taken from her. She'd fabricated the death of Petrosinella's parents to keep the girl from asking to go and look for them, but always worried that one day she would discover the truth and run away to find them. When it had become necessary for Petrosinella to go to market instead of herself, she had insisted that the girl dress in boy's clothes for protection, and so that no one could recognize her and alert her parents, who would then come and take her away.

These new friends of hers were dangerous as well. If they found out who she was or where she was living, then people could even start coming to the castle looking for her, and it would only be a matter of time before Petrosinella found out the truth. An then she would return to her parents and that town to hear what they had to say about its midwife. To hear them call her a witch and the devil incarnate and to despise her. And then…Petrosinella herself, the one person who had ever truly loved her and whom she had ever truly loved, would begin to despise her…

A wrinkled hand wiped away the tears that were so thick they were blurring the old woman's vision. She sniffed loudly, trying to dismiss these somber thoughts, but they continued to spite her. Petrosinella, despising her…if she didn't already. Edessa sighed as she thought about her harsh words with the girl. What was the matter lately? She couldn't seem to communicate with Pet without getting angry anymore. The girl just had a way of worrying her so, and that concern came out only as anger. What had happened to her in Harborton? She had lost her money and her clothes, and had somehow managed to meet her brother.

The worries sprang anew. Did she know that Lon was her bother? She couldn't know. But if she went back there, she would learn more about her family and soon she would guess. She must not go back there. After tonight, the midwife promised herself that she would see to it that Petrosinella never had the chance to choose any life other than the one she had here in the forest.

With that determined thought, the midwife yawned, settled back in her chair and let the coming coolness of the afternoon lull her into a troubled sleep.

--


	15. The Price of True Love

-1_The Price of True Love_

It was nearly sundown when Petrosinella reached Market Square in Harborton, pushing her wheelbarrow of items before her. There were a few late day shoppers still haggling for their dinner, but most customers had finished shopping in the coolness of the morning. The merchants would be packing up their wares soon, returning home for an early summer supper. Some of the carts had already left their spaces, and she hurried on, hoping she could find the market broker in time. She was relieved to find him sitting where he always sat, at one end of the square scratching away in a leather-bound ledger. He looked up when she approached.

"Good-day to you sir. I've a few things to sell if you please."

He eyed her warily for a moment. Petrosinella stood, meeting his gaze steadily. What was the matter? Why did he not bring out his money? Then she remembered, dropping her eyes as she sank into a graceful curtsey. As Peter, the young boy, she could speak to this man as she liked, as an equal. As a girl, her straightforwardness had bordered on rudeness. She softened her voice and tried again, adopting a thick country accent and a sweet smile that she hoped would win him over.

"Please, sir. Me mum's come down with a fever, ye see, and me dad sent me to sell our things so's we can pay the doctor. I'm to come back as quickly as I can or my dad'll wallop me and make me sleep in the stables." Petrosinella improvised. Perhaps she had gone a little overboard with the walloping thing, but she'd never had severe punishments. Whenever she did something wrong Aunt Eddy would scold her and tell her to go to her room, but in an hour she would be calling for Petrosinella to come and read to her.

The broker's expression softened. He smiled slyly.

"Don't you worry lass. Your pretty little arse won't be walloped tonight--less'n you want it to be." He fixed her with a gaze that made her dearly wish that her snugly laced corset were replaced with her loose boy's doublet.

"Uh--I think I'd better show you what I've brought." Petrosinella replied, changing the subject. She began to unload the items from the wheelbarrow, aware that each time she bent over the broker's eyes were examining something other than the items she had come to sell .

The man made several less than savory comments before their transactions were complete, and she thanked her lucky stars that she'd ever dealt with him as 'Peter.' She was sure he had cheated her on some of the items, but she felt confident that she had collected enough to help pay the marriage fee.

The sun swam on the horizon as she arrived at Tilman's door.

As soon as she entered, Fen was there.

"Thank goodness you've come. The Parson Ferris was just about to leave. I was able to convince him to stay for supper or he'd be gone already." Then she crossed herself and led the way upstairs.

Inside the small chamber, Nancy sat upright in bed, holding her baby. Geoffrey was nearby, looking down upon the two with a look of love that was so powerful it brought a lump to Petrosinella's throat as she remembered the way her father had sometimes looked at her mother. In one corner, as far removed from this scene of domestic bliss as possible, Person Ferris sat at a small table, tucking into a heaping bowl of steaming liquid and a half a loaf of fine brown bread. Watching him eat, Petrosinella realized how hungry she was, and Fen, following her gaze, whisked out of the room to prepare another bowl.

The lovers looked up anxiously when she entered, Nancy's brow furrowed with deep lines of concern. It was Geoffrey who spoke first.

"Mistress Meg. You've come. Have you the money?"

"I have some. I've sold everything I can think of, and here's all I have."

"We can't take all of your money," Nancy protested. "You've been so very kind already."

Petrosinella ignored her. She turned to Geoffrey and handed him the pouch of silver coins at her waist. He took it humbly, and began to silently count out the coins into his hand. To this he added the contents of another pouch. After a few minutes of calculations, a broad smile broke across his face. Behind him, Nancy wept happily.

"Oh Meg! It's enough! We'll be married on the morrow thanks to you!" He stopped in his rejoicing, taking her hand seriously. When he spoke, his voice was filled with emotion. "I can't tell you how much this means to us."

Petrosinella found that she was weeping too. She smiled through her tears. "There's no need to thank me, Geoffrey. I'm so pleased for you both." He plucked a few of the glinting coins from his hand and dropped them into Petrosinella's pouch, which he returned to her. "We don't need these." He explained.

The parson finally decided it was time he stop eating and speak up. "Well then, it seems that I will see you two in the morning. And now, I really must go." He declared pompously, sneering above his stiff collar.

On his way out he bumped into Fen, sending Petrosinella's dinner crashing down the stairs. He gave a shout, Fen shrieked, and mutton stew was splattered all over the walls. From inside the room Petrosinella listened to the parson's sanctimonious complaints and declarations that it was a bad omen, a sign from the almighty, all to do with harboring an unwed mother. Fen could be heard trying to calm him, and Petrosinella could almost see her frantically crossing herself.

As she listened, from somewhere deep inside Petrosinella felt the laughter growing, and finally it burst out of her, so that she was weeping and laughing at the same time. Geoffrey and Nancy joined in and the little room rang with merriment as outside one by one the stars winked in the dark night sky, wanting to join in on the joke.

--

Fen had convinced her to stay the night, and Nancy wouldn't hear of anything but that she must be at the wedding, so that the next morning Petrosinella found herself rising yet again from one of Tilman's warm and comfortable beds. Fen rushed in, another finer dress on her arm, clutching a comb and a long ribbon. She sat Petrosinella down in a chair and set to work threading the delicate ribbon through the folds of the girl's long, golden hair. The finished effect, with the dress, was quite becoming, and Fen remarked with a twinkle in her eye that perhaps the maid of honor was going to outshine the bride.

As she dressed, Petrosinella asked a question that had been burning in her ever since she had returned to Harborton.

"Fen, where's Lon?"

"The little master? His father came and got him yesterday while you were out. He wanted to wait to say goodbye to you, but his father wanted to make it home before nightfall." She saw Petrosinella's look of disappointment. "I'm sorry lass." She added kindly.

--

Unable to travel to the church, Nancy had been dressed and moved into the main hall of the inn, where she sat in a throne-like chair looking something like a queen, radiant and joyful with her baby in her arms. Geoffrey was nowhere to be seen, but Fen told her as they descended into the makeshift chapel that he was in the kitchen with Tilman, getting ready--and, she added in a whisper, sharing a toast or two. She laughed heartily, and Petrosinella thought she, too, seemed much prettier and younger than she had since the girl had known her. Everyone seemed in good spirits today, except the parson, who stood removed from the well-wishers and family who had gathered in the hall to congratulate and coo over Nancy and Abilene. He looked out of the window, clearly displeased with all he saw.

Petrosinella decided that his aloofness could not spoil her good time, and she scooped up a tray and helped Fen distribute refreshments among the guests. She noticed as she passed through the room that she was earning some warm looks from the men in the room, and she felt both unsettled and pleased at being admired, a new sensation to her. Her cheeks became more rosy and her smile more broad, and she even ventured a response to one or two of the flirtatious remarks that were directed at her. She was exchanging a word or two with Nancy's older brother Robert when there was a hustle and bustle at the inn door.

A pair of men entered. Their dress and manner immediately set them apart from the rest. These were not the honest workers of Harborton. They were nobility, bedecked in deeply colored fabrics adorned with precious medals and the occasional jewel. Each of them wore a massive sword at their waist and fine leather riding boots. One of them, the younger of the two who Petrosinella judged to be a few years her senior, wore a small circlet of gold atop his chestnut curls. He was handsome Petrosinella observed, warming to his gentle gaze and easy stance. His companion, however, adopted a much sterner stance, though as she watched him greet Tilman she noticed a twinkle in his eye that betrayed a much more genial nature. From his corner, Parson Ferris rushed over to pay obsequious homage to the affluent guests.

"Robert, who are those men?" She whispered to her companion.

"The older one is Lord Robbins. He's here to give his blessing to the match. As to the younger, I've not seen him before in my life."

Lord Robbins crossed to where Nancy sat. She bowed from her chair and Geoffrey bowed beside her. Then Milord turned to the crowd which miraculously quieted in anticipation.

"People of Harborton. I am glad to be here on this joyous occasion to give my blessing to marriage of this man and this maid." He indicated Geoffrey and Nancy. There was applause, during which Geoffrey handed Milord the purse of coins. Lord Robbins smiled graciously and raised the purse. "It is important to remember that the wealth of Harborton will always belong to its people. Those who share in the prosperity and security of the noble family Robbins and that of our King. And who share also, in the blessings of the Lord Almighty from whence all blessings flow." He turned to the couple. "I wish you every happiness." With that, he returned the pouch to Geoffrey, who was overcome with astonishment. There were more cheers. Petrosinella's eyes flicked to the back of the room to where the younger man stood, smiling and cheering along, his enjoyment only increasing his handsomeness.

The parson held his hands up for silence, and as the company watched, he married Geoffrey and Nancy. The moment he pronounced the sentence "man and wife," the room once more erupted with rejoicing. Geoffrey bent down to kiss his wife and his daughter. Petrosinella watched them, her happiness soured by a powerful longing. She suddenly missed her parents so much she could hardly breathe, and everything I her being wished for something that she could not exactly define. She turned and ran out into the street.

Leaning up against the inn's wall, she let go of all the emotions that she had suppressed over the past few days and wept bitterly.

She was so overcome that she did not hear the footsteps approaching her. Then, through her sobs she heard a voice.

"Mistress--Are you unwell?" She snuffed a little and tried to control her sobs. A handkerchief appeared before her, and had she not been occupied so with attempting to stop her crying she would have noticed that it was made of fine linen and embroidered with the royal seal. Looking up finally, she was arrested by the concerned blue eyes of Lord Robbins's young companion. He smiled comfortingly. She returned the smile.

Little did she know that that smile made him feel momentarily dizzy and that he would think of it often in the days to come. Finally Petrosinella found her voice.

"I'm well, thank you." She returned the handkerchief, standing. Suddenly nervous under his gaze she excused herself. "I-I'd best return to the celebration." And she curtseyed and hurried back into the hall.

--

"It's beautiful, Meg. Thank you." Nancy was holding one of Petrosinella's delicately carved birds that she had saved as a wedding gift.

"It's not much, but I thought Abilene might like it."

"It's lovely. Besides, you've already given us so much."

"Everything." Geoffrey chimed in. "If there's ever anything we can do for you…" Petorsinella smiled, though her heart dropped. She was never to see any of these dear friends again. Aunt Eddy had forbid her.

"I'll let you know." She said, a little sadly.

"Mistress Meg, is there something wrong?" Nancy asked.

"No. But I must go now. Back to my home."

An hour later, changed back into her boy's clothing, unnoticed among the throngs of the wedding party, Petrosinella did just that. With a heavy heart she listened to the sounds of the celebrations fade in the distance, her mind filled with the image of a certain charming smile.

--


End file.
